


Pinocchio

by Angelcroc



Category: The Stanley Parable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-09 21:23:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16457471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelcroc/pseuds/Angelcroc
Summary: To enter the escape pod, Stanley was forced to take the Narrator with him. Now Stanley is in the streets of an unfamiliar town, with no money, no friends, and a capricious otherdimensional entity in his head. Stanley struggles with his own past. Stanley wishes desperately he could just go back to pushing buttons. Stanley is in over his head.





	Pinocchio

**Author's Note:**

> I have Plans for this fanfiction, and a notes/headcanon document that's grown to monstrous proportions, so I'm really hoping to get this done within six months.
> 
> I may be tardy to the party, but at least I'm here now.

Chapter 1: The Escape, Part I

Stanley was not a stupid man.

He was a simple man, who could find pleasure in the simple act of pushing buttons. He was a patient man, who rarely got truly angry or frustrated. He might even be called an unimaginative man, a straightforward man, a man who was afraid of new experiences, and who was afraid of change to his routine… Despite all this, Stanley was not stupid. Stanley was human. And Stanley was sick to death of the Story, of being told how he felt and how he thought.

 

* * *

 

It had all started with his coworkers disappearing. He had walked to his boss’s office. He had found the Mind Control Facility. He’d been freed… and then he found himself back in his office again. He had been confused, terrified; what the hell was going on!? He’d been outside! He’d felt the cobbles under his cheap leather shoes! He was so shocked by the sudden reset that he simply sat in his chair and waited for more commands to come. He just wanted to push more buttons. He had been desperate for a return to normalcy. He just wanted to do his job. No commands ever came. Instead, his vision had blackened, and he’d felt an awful, crushing sensation in his chest… And then he was back. Again and again.

_“This is the story of a man named Stanley…”_

The rumbly, low voice droned in his ear once again, and Stanley had to suppress a shudder. This voice had been his constant companion since that awful incident at the bottom of the stairwell, when It had spoken to him directly. When It had driven him insane. He could still see the endless loop of vending machine, loading dock, vending machine, if he shut his eyes. He could still feel the voice telling him what he said, accompanied by his vocal cords moving on their own… Even now, he was anxious about the idea he wasn't real. He was also worried about the fact that the voice had probably been with him the entire time, manipulating him, but he just hadn't noticed. Stanley had decided to ignore that growing dread for now.

That run had been uncomfortable, but it was also extremely valuable in helping Stanley figure out just what the hell was happening to him.

Stanley left his office before the Narrator could shut the door and force him to wait for commands that’d never come. Even now, the idea of sitting there and praying for his coworkers return was tempting, but it was also a surefire path towards another pointless reset. If he did that, he’d never find a way of escaping. Stanley was not going to spend the rest of his life here.

_“All of his coworkers had gone. What could it mean?”_

Stanley had gotten adept at ignoring the voice in his head. There were only so many times he could hear the same lines before they no longer had any meaning. Now, he ignored the voice in favor of escape attempt number thirteen.

He’d tried to climb out the window, but to his utter horror, there had been nothing but a white void out there. No grass, and no cobbles. Nothing but a void, and a rather annoying song that the Narrator had written about him. He’d gone through the freedom ending again, but with the Narrator, it rang hollow. He wasn’t free. He was just sent to the beginning, again and again and again. He’d tried to turn the mind control machine ON, and, well… his suspicion that the Narrator wasn’t his friend had been confirmed. He’d answered the phone. He’d seen the baby game. He’d seen the museum. He’d followed the adventure line, and he’d done everything he could think of.

He’d seen the escape pod. Now he had an idea. An unlikely longshot of an idea, but an idea.

Stanley sat on the floor and leaned against the door to employee 430’s office. The Narrator had a variety of unpleasant personality traits that seemed to remain consistent through every run, even if it was being friendly. Pompousness, arrogance, condescension, impatience… Stanley hoped that he could use that last one. He’d never been adept at office politics and manipulation, but he was getting desperate. Stanley was hoping to annoy It enough to listen, but not so much that It’d create some awful new torture that’d make his life hell. He would have tried the broom closet again, but it had been boarded up.

_“Stanley felt no rush to get to his boss’s office. Though his coworkers had mysteriously vanished, this was clearly nothing to be worried about. He could faff about as long as he liked.”_

Already, the Narrator was getting impatient with him! It hadn’t even been ten minutes! Stanley shut his eyes.

_“Stanley decided that instead of moving on with the story, he was going to have a little nap. What a tremendous decision. This was surely going to be an important aspect of the plot.”_

Ah, yes, the preoccupation with what would make a good story, and not what Stanley wanted to do. Just another of the Narrator’s fun quirks.

_“Stanley, is this about the last ending? You were afraid of facing your boss, and went mad? I thought that was some of my best work, but I can see how you, trapped in the middle of it, might be upset.”_

This line was unexpected enough that Stanley jolted out of his little rest to stare at the empty office around him. The bland grey walls stared back at him innocently, but he could feel his face going hot and red in frustration. His fists clenched against the cheap brown carpet as he tried to calm himself down.

_“I thought it was quite inspired, honestly. A satirical look at stories, and how the drudgery of office life could drive someone to the brink... I enjoyed the attempt at a metanarrative.”_

This… this voice, this THING, had more memory of the resets than Stanley thought. He’d gone through the insanity ending again, just to see if there was anything missing, and though he knew what was coming, it was just as unpleasant the second time. Just as horrible. And now the Narrator was trying to APOLOGIZE?

_“…Bah. You probably don’t even know what I’m talking about. Forget about it. I feel rather foolish for asking.”_

Stanley held a hand up, as if to say “wait.” He still couldn’t talk. He was sure he HAD been able to talk, sometime in the past; otherwise, he wouldn’t have a phone at his desk. For now, though, he couldn’t speak.

_“You DO know what I’m talking about? Then why aren’t you moving? Quickly, Stanley! The story awaits!”_

The idea that the Narrator was doing this even while fully aware of Stanley’s autonomy was worse than the Narrator being a force of nature or forgetting every reset. Stanley had never been so tempted to flip off the ceiling. He was getting upset. Instead of losing his temper, though, Stanley took a deep breath and stretched briefly. How could he convey what he meant? Stanley made his way to the meeting room. There were whiteboards there.

The Narrator continued his narration, apparently satisfied that Stanley was back on track, but Stanley had no intention of continuing. Instead, he moved to erase the whiteboard… Then he reconsidered and looked for a small empty spot where he could write. Even if this was important, he didn’t want to erase all the important lists and such. What if his coworkers came back? Surely, they'd appreciate that he hadn't erased the list. He didn't want to jeopardize his job.

In big, shaky letters, handwriting wobbly from lack of use, Stanley wrote: [I WANT TO GO HOME.]

The Narrator laughed at him. Actually laughed. Stanley startled, accidentally jerked his marker across the board, then spent a moment carefully erasing it from the very important list as the Narrator talked at him. No, he had to be patient. He was very good at being patient. Why was the Narrator so adept at getting under his skin? It must be the accent.

_“Why, Stanley, that is what we are doing. We are freeing you from this mindnumbing job. What did you think the purpose of this exercise was? I’m not doing this for fun. I’m doing this for you.”_

Despite everything, Stanley found that he still quite liked his job, and pushing buttons. Even in the freedom ending, when he was supposedly "freed" from his "awful job," Stanley was sad for the loss of his routine and button pressing. For whatever reason, the Narrator was intent on making him dissatisfied with something he liked. It reminded him of his boss, who was always searching Stanley's actions for ambition that simply wasn't there. The more Stanley thought, the more the Narrator reminded him of a snobby person who judged other people's taste in movies and music. Despite this, it was somewhat reassuring that the Narrator seemed to think that the freedom ending was actually going to free him. That meant It wasn’t responsible for all the resets. It wasn’t the one who kept bringing Stanley back to the start.

[I’LL JUST COME BACK HERE]

_“Well, of course, Stanley. How do you think stories work?”_

_“I mean, could you imagine? If you read a book, then reread it, and all the characters were gone? Vanished into whatever ending they’d reached? Don’t be absurd.”_

This briefly made Stanley pause. He hadn’t considered that. Of course the Narrator wouldn’t help him out of here. If Stanley could escape this hell, It wouldn’t have a story. There’d just be… nothing. Stanley tapped the pen against the board a few times as he tried to think of some way out of this. Stanley refused to entertain the notion that he was just a character in some stupid story. He was his own man. He was real. That was why he wasn’t satisfied following the same script, over and over. Stanley drew a small spiral as he tried to think of something to say.

[ARENT YOU BORED?]

_“Why, Stanley, you care about me? I never would have thought.”_

Stanley froze.

_“No, Stanley. This is my purpose. My life's work. Just as going through the story is yours.”_

Ah, of course. Of course It wasn’t being serious. Stanley wasn’t good at sarcasm or irony at the best of times. That was how he'd ended up in a button-pushing job instead of a sales job, even if he enjoyed the repetitive work. That was how he’d been tricked by the Narrator, over and over. Stanley was bad at telling when he was being manipulated. Stanley let out an audible sigh as he erased his last question.

[WHAT ABOUT THE ESCAPE POD]

_“What escape pod?”_

...Well, that was strange. The Narrator, who had previously sounded smugly self-satisfied in its work, suddenly sounded confused, and then annoyed. Stanley had found that it did not like things it did not understand.

_“There is no escape pod on this map, none that I’ve made. I can see everything in this office, down to the last hydrogen atom, and there is no hide nor hair of any sort of escape pod. I do believe you are pulling my leg.”_

Stanley was quiet for so long, stood motionlessly by the whiteboard for so long, the Narrator began to monologue again. Stanley really wished that the voice would just shut up and let him think for once. It rambled on and on.

_“Even if there were an escape from my story, which there isn’t, why would you want to go? You are my protagonist. This story is for and about you. Where would you even go?”_

_“And why do you insist on writing in that little space? Do you really think that the whiteboard manager will care if you erase their nonsense? Even if they did, do you think they’ll fire you over it? Do you really care for your job that much? After all you've been through? Here. Let me do you a favor.”_

Stanley jumped a little as a whiteboard clattered to his feet. He grabbed it, and paced around the room a couple of times before deciding what he was going to do.

[WHAT IF I SHOW YOU.]


End file.
